No Limits. Lori Foster

love to segue right from hello to hell, yeah, but he also enjoyed just looking at her and talking with her.

      Sipping her Coke, Yvette stole a peek at him. Feathery lashes framed those big green eyes he remembered so well—eyes that used to watch him with innocent infatuation, but now seemed wary. She sat straight, proper. Spoke carefully. Avoided his direct gaze.

      As Tipton had said, she was guarded.

      She wore makeup, but not a lot. Even in a ponytail, her long dark hair made him think of it spilled loose on his pillows, or gliding over his chest.

      Or his thighs.

      And her clothes, while casual, covered such a sweet body it left him visually undressing her.

      Repeatedly.

      Knowing he had to get a grip, he asked, “Are you hungry?”

      She shook her head. “But please go ahead and eat if you want.”

      “I’m good.” Arms folded on the top of the booth, he smiled. “I can’t get over how much you’ve changed.”

      That pleased her, he could tell. “It’s been almost three and a half years.”

      Long enough for her to put the past behind her? To put him behind her? No, he wouldn’t let her. “I’m so damn sorry about Tipton.”

      “Thank you.” She set the drink aside, then nervously drew her finger through the damp ring the glass had left on the booth top. “I wanted to talk to you about that. About—”

      “Hey, Saint.” Two guys sidled up to the table. “Can we get a pic?”

      Cannon forced his gaze away from Yvette. “Sure.” He would never alienate a fan, but damn, the timing could be better. Yvette had been screwing up her courage to say something. Now he had to wonder what.

      Stepping out of the booth, he bent a little to put himself more in line with the shorter guys, and with a double thumbs-up, smiled as a plump lady used her cell phone to snap a few photos.

      That only seemed to unleash other fans, and before he knew it, he was posing with men and women alike. Some wanted to hug him, some wanted him in a fighter’s stance, a few just wanted him to mug for the camera. Before he could get a handle on things, he’d taken around twenty photos and signed more than a dozen autographs.

      Yvette watched it all with a look of fascinated indulgence. When there seemed to be a lull, he reseated himself. “Sorry about that.”

      “You’re popular, I understand.” Her long glossy ponytail spilled over her shoulder when she tipped her head to study him. “I watch the fights.”

      That pleased him more than it should have. “Yeah? What do you think?”

      “You’re pretty amazing.”

      He held back his grin. “I do my best.”

      That earned a short laugh. “Humble, too.” Shaking her head, she teased, “No wonder they call you the Saint.”

      He’d rarely heard her laugh before, and hearing it now did funny things to him. It was nice. Rich. Husky.

      A turn-on.

      “It’s a dumb fight name, but I don’t have much say in it.”

      “Would you rather something else?”

      Sure he would, but admitting it would sound juvenile. “Doesn’t matter. What they call me isn’t as important as whether or not they remember me.”

      “Being memorable is accomplished by putting on a good fight. And you always do.” She leaned in a little, teasing him. “That’s not just my biased opinion either. I’ve heard the same from the commentators, read it in articles and heard other fans say it.”

      “Yeah? When was this?” Had she attended a fight?

      “I live in Cali. Last year you were only three hours away, so I made the trip.”

      “Only three hours, huh?” Damn it, why hadn’t she told him? “I got a knockout in the first round of that fight.”

      “Everyone was on their feet screaming. Pretty exciting.” She grinned. “A guy behind me spilled his beer down my back.”

      Cannon winced. “Idiot.”

      “I forgave him since he was cheering for you.”

      In his experience, most women who attended live fights either came on the make, or with a boyfriend. He didn’t like either possibility for Yvette. “So who went to the fight with you?”

      She shook her head. “Just me.”

      She’d gone alone? For some reason, that broke his heart. “What fun is that?”

      A dimple appeared in her right cheek. “You got a first-round knockout. Believe me, it was fun.”

      “I wish you’d told me you were there.” He’d thought about trying to look her up, but California wasn’t a small state, and there’d been so much to do prefight.

      Besides, she’d been the one who’d walked away....

      As if she’d read his thoughts, she straightened, her shoulders back. “I couldn’t be that bold. You were busy. It wouldn’t have been right to bother you.”

      He didn’t want her so uptight with him. Once, long ago, she hadn’t been. “It would’ve been nice to see you.” But carving more than a few minutes out of his jammed schedule would have been dicey.

      A flash went off behind them, and Yvette turned to see a woman taking another picture. Unlike with other women, the intrusion didn’t seem to annoy her, and the attention didn’t seem to excite her.

      Remaining poised, she said, “Maybe I should get going. There are a lot of people hoping for your time.”

      “I’d rather you didn’t.” No way did he want things to end so quickly. “It’s easier for me to fend them off if you stay.”

      “You want to fend them off?”

      “I like my downtime same as any other guy.” Especially with her so near.

      “Does that happen everywhere you go?”

      The popularity inherent in the sport occasionally made him uncomfortable. This was one of those times. “More so the past year, but yeah, I sometimes get recognized.”

      Amusement had her lips twitching. “And you just take it in stride.” Reaching into her purse, she located her phone and lifted it out. “Mind if I take one, too? I’ll add it to my Facebook.”

      A good excuse to make his move. “Only if you’re in it with me.” Sliding out of his seat and over to her side of the booth, he deliberately took up space so that they sat touching. He put one arm over her narrow shoulders, keeping her close, and took the phone from her. “My reach is longer.”

      Yvette went very still, almost frozen, as he leaned in, near enough to feel the supple curves of her body, the scented warmth she radiated.

      Stretching the phone out in front of them, he said, “Tell me when you’re ready.”

      Gathering herself, she lifted her lips in a practiced smile, said, “Go,” and then held her breath.

      Sexual awareness slowly uncoiled inside him. Her long ponytail teased the skin of his arm, her sweet little body tucked in against his.

      It was as if the years had never happened—except that now she was more mature and plenty old enough for his interest.

      And yet, something held him back. Maybe her new reserve.

      After snapping a few photos, Cannon handed her back her phone—and stayed put. He’d go slow, but he wouldn’t retreat.

      He wanted to nuzzle her neck, drink in the light fragrance of her shampoo and the warmer scent of her